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He cocks an eyebrow at Theodora, who nods sheepishly. “Yes, sir.”
He sighs. “Just as I thought.”
“What did you submit?” I ask, staring at Theodora.
“Miss Dorokhova submitted the opening chapter of a highly engaging, if rather… rambunctious story—a rousing and bawdy adventure on the high seas.”
Theodora’s face is now bright pink.
My mouth falls open.
“Not a… not a pirate romance?” I ask, torn between horror and amusement.
“Ah, I see you are a fan ofThe Buccaneer Captain’s Stolen Fiancée,” Mr Ambrose says in a completely serious tone.
“He ought to be,” Theodora says lightly. “It’s his book.”
Now Mr Ambrose gives a thunderous frown. “You surely don’t mean Zachary authored it?”
“No, sir,” Theodora answers. “I wrote it, he owns the intellectual property.”
I bury my face in my hands with a groan.
“This sounds like a complicated personal—and perhaps legal—matter,” Mr Ambrose says. “The fact remains that, whilst an excellent read—if rather bolder than the books I am accustomed to—your work, Theodora, cannot be said to be discussing the statement you were given. Now.” He looks from Theodora to me, and I drop my hands to my lap, watching him. “I can only assume, Theodora, that you submitted this particular oeuvre in the hope, perhaps, to sabotage yourself and allow Zachary, here, to be crowned victor of the Apostles programme. Am I correct in my assumption?”
She doesn’t say anything, but Mr Ambrose reads her answer in her wide-eyed silence.
“Ah—just as I thought. A bold gambit, assuredly. I can only imagine you must have had compelling reasons to do so—to gift Zachary a victory he has, no doubt, desperately wished for, and you were, after all, terribly close to snatching that victory away from him.” He points his hand at me in a courteous gesture. “I’m sure you could not have predicted, however, that Zachary would best you in a different arena.”
Theodora and I exchange another look—this time a frown.
“Zachary might not have bested you academically, Theodora—but in the field of self-sabotage, he emerged the uncontested victor. For his final assessment, he submitted a single blank piece of paper.”
Mr Ambrose sits back, steepling his fingers and resting a heavy look on us.
“Why would you—” Theodora starts, her cheeks now bright red, her eyes an angry flash of blue.
“Don’t you even start—” I counter, starting upright in my chair and answering her glare for glare.
“Thank you,” Mr Ambrose booms, cutting us both short. “It is the final day of the school year, and I am a busy man with more important things to do than to listen to the excuses and arguments of two lovesick young fools. Keep your reprimands and remonstrations to yourselves, you two. I’ve thought this through long and hard, and I have made my decision, with which neither of you will be given an opportunity to argue.”
We watch him, rigid and nervous in our seats.
“This year, there will simply be no victor. Neither of your portraits will sit in the great hall as Spearcrest Apostle. You two, although my most promising candidates yet, have managed to break my programme. Perhaps it is the boon and burden of teaching such bright young minds. Or perhaps it is the risk I took when I chose you two and hoped that sublime love between you would help you reach greater heights instead of sending you both crashing into an abyss of despair and self-sacrifice.”
My face is so aflame I hardly dare look Mr Ambrose in the eyes, and when I sneak Theodora a glance, her lips are pinched shut and her cheeks are crimson.
“Now—although there is to be no formal victor this year, this programme and its partnership with Oxford is a long-standing tradition which I respect too much to dismiss or ignore. The Oxford scholarship, therefore, I have chosen to award to you, Theodora.”
She opens her mouth, but he raises an imperious hand.
“I’m not finished. You will receive this scholarship because you were the front-runner of the programme for most of its duration, because you have worked exceptionally hard in the light of extremely trying circumstances, and because I personally believe you deserve this scholarship. My decision is final and has already been communicated to the university and to my excellent friend Lady Ashton. That is all—that is my decision.”
He waves a hand. “You may now respond—and it need not be any more complicated than a heartfelt thank-you.”
Theodora lets out a weak puff of laughter. “Thank you, Mr Ambrose.”
He nods graciously. She glances at me and then adds, “And thank you, Mr Ambrose, for asking Zachary to look after me back when I first started.”
